


youth and beauty brigade

by mannersminded



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M, Unplanned Pregnancy, part of a broader humanstuck high school au, possible dubcon, unplanned pregnancy scare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-25
Updated: 2013-11-25
Packaged: 2018-01-02 14:32:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1057902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mannersminded/pseuds/mannersminded
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Roxy, what the hell is going on? My boss is going to kill me – ”<br/>Heavy sobs. “Dirk,” slurred, terror-sharp, “Dirk, I’m late, ok?”<br/>Empty silence. “You’re... <i>Fuck.</i>”<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	youth and beauty brigade

**Author's Note:**

> this piece takes place three years before the rest of the story it comes from - so, around 2009ish as of now.

The night it happens, she kisses him like a wildfire.

She smells like shitty cigarettes and cheap booze and home, and when she pulls back, he tries not to follow. Her eyes are filled with hope and fear and want. She is perfect and scared and lovely and it shivers through him to slowly rip his heart in two.

“Please,” she says.

“You’re drunk.”

“So are you.”

His eyes are filled with the blonde of her hair and the stretch of her bare shoulder, and he can’t look, and he can’t look away. He grasps. “I’m gay.”

“I know.”

“Shit.” He takes her hand in his. His fingers wrap so easily around her fist. “Are you sure?” he pleads, itching to touch and hold and take.

“Yes,” she breathes, and pushes him down onto the bed.

He loves her. He loves her so much, deep, right sliced into his core does he love her. She looks so lovely all in her white dress and pearls. She is a Mary, a Marilyn, a Magdalene in silk. “You’re beautiful,” he says, as her skirts rustle over his hips. “You’re so beautiful.”

“I love you,” she says, and she means it. “I love you.”

“I love you,” he says, and he means it, too. “You’re my girl and I love you.”

She shuts him up with her lips. They are soft and perfect, all lemon and tequila and salt and cherry gloss. He reaches up to hold her face in his hands. She is soft. She is perfect. She is his. She is kissing him like the world is ending. He kisses her back.

He doesn’t know when his belt comes undone, or his fly. He knows when he slips a nimble hand under her skirt and pulls aside the flimsy strip of lace she insisted on, the itchy-pink fabric scraping over bare skin. He touches her, rough-calloused fingers running over the foreign wet heat of her cunt, her labia, her clit. He likes the way she sounds when she feels good.

 She’s pulling his boxers down to bunch in the vee of his fly, groaning and moaning and clumsy with need. Her hand is small and strong and then it’s around his cock and it’s softer than anything he’s ever felt before. Before he really understands, she takes him in, a slow seating, a swallowing, and he is on fire. She burns up around him, slick and tight and hot.

His heart judders and jerks as his cock sinks in, bursting with white sparks of protection and fierce loyalty and affection. He will make her happy with his dying breath. He thinks of her small body, feels her wrapped in the frame of his arms.

“Fuck,” she yelps, nails digging into his biceps. “Oh, fuck, yes.”

She is his girl and he is her boy and this is not about sex. This is about loving each other, and being safe in the arms of a best friend. This is a promise, and a bond. No one will ever take this away. This is them, together, here, forever.

Dirk closes his eyes and breathes Roxy in.

 

 

 _1 MISSED CALL FROM CONTACT_ : Roxy (3:10:14pm)

 

FROM CONTACT: Roxy (3:13:15pm)

**dirk?**

 

FROM CONTACT: Roxy (3:14:02pm)

**drik i needt  o talk to yuo im freaknig out**

_1 MISSED CALL FROM CONTACT_ : Roxy (3:16:30pm)

 

FROM CONTACT: Roxy (3:17:10pm)

**pleas**

FROM CONTACT: Roxy (3:17:26pm)

***e**

_1 MISSED CALL FROM CONTACT:_ Roxy (3:21:20pm)

 _1 MISSED CALL FROM CONTACT_ : Roxy (3:24:50pm)

 _1 MISSED CALL FROM CONTACT_ : Roxy (3:26:10pm)

 _1 MISSED CALL FROM CONTACT_ : Roxy (3:27:20pm)

 

FROM CONTACT: Roxy (3:28:49pm)

**pikc up your fuckin g phone**

 

 

“Roxy, what the hell is going on? My boss is going to kill me – ”

Heavy sobs. “Dirk,” slurred, terror-sharp, “Dirk, I’m late, ok?”

Empty silence. “You’re...”

Hiccup.

Stunned, breathless. “Fuck. _Fuck_.”

Choked giggling.  “Yep.”

“Where are you?”

“ ’m at home, dummy...”

“Good. Good. Fuck. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

“Wait – “

 _Click_.

 

 

She stands at the top of the stairs like there’s nothing she wants to do more than crumple into his arms. Her face is tense, eyes red and nose red and cheeks red. Her hair is down.

He has no idea what to do.

After a moment, she walks down to him, each step careful, measured grace. It’s wrong. It’s not her. It’s _wrong_. She stops three stairs short of his reach. “I thought you were working.”

“Fuck work,” he says, tense and taut as a bowstring. He holds his hand out. “God, Roxy, I – ”

“Don’t,” she whispers. She stands tilted, off-balance, a leaning tower of ice and glass.

In all his life, this is the first time he’s looked at her and thought _fragile_. He says nothing. The distance between them is too brittle for touching.

“I can’t have a kid, Strider. I can’t.” She swallows the word _kid_ like a favourite booze gone noxious from overindulgence. “I can’t.”

She seems so young, standing in front of him with her wrists thin and her feet bare and her flat belly hidden in an oversized sweater. He remembers her at thirteen, a princess on roller blades with a spring in her step and a drumbeat for a heart. At fourteen, growing into her hips, giddy with black lipstick and cheap vodka, he knew she would take the world apart. Now halfway to sixteen, she is like ripped spider-silk in front of him. She is dismantled.

He searches for the right words. There are none.

“I couldn’t raise a _kid_ ,” she murmurs, accusatory, perched birdlike on her toes. It’s like she will startle and fly away at the slightest movement. “I’m a fucking fifteen-year-old wino with mommy issues, I’d ruin it.” Her breath hitches. “I mean, I could get a GED if I had to, but I wanna go to college. I wanna do something with my life. I can’t get stuck like this. I can’t do it, Dirk. I can’t. I’ll go nuts. I’ll fuck up everything. There’s no way.”

She’s shaking. She’s right.

He steps forward, slowly, carefully.

She flinches backwards.

He stops.

“I can’t keep it.” She looks at him, eyes wide and wet. “I can’t keep – ” A tear rolls down from the centre of her right eye and over her cheek, her lips, her chin. Her breath shudders. She swallows and looks straight through his shades, eyes burning. “I can’t have a baby.”

His arm jerks up, then falls back into place at his side. His fists twitch. He wants to say something. His throat is too tight to speak.

She blinks, and a new set of tears roll over her lashes, clumping them and smearing the remnants of her rubbed-away eyeliner.

“I - ” His voice cracks in a way it hasn’t since _he_ was fifteen. “Shit. Roxy,” he starts, “you – it’s your choice, I can’t – of course I’m with you, I...”

“I fucked it up,” she bursts out. She’s crying, clutching the banister like her feet are glued in place. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to, I was drunk and I didn’t think and it was stupid and now I’ve ruined everything and I shouldn’t have asked you to – ”

 “No, no, Roxy, I said yes when I shouldn’t have – I’m eighteen, goddammit, I’m responsible.” His throat is scratchy and hoarse and his eyes are burning. “It’s not on you. It’s not your fault. It was – a mistake.”

Her face crumples.

Without thinking, he lurches forward and enfolds her. His arms wrap all the way around her thin ribs and her cold, wet face burrows into his chest. She sobs and heaves and coughs and lets him rock her, gently, like a little kid.

“We’ll figure it out,” he says. “We’ll get through this.”

He can feel her nod a little against his chest.

Growing up can wait.


End file.
